


It's Taken All Of Me

by somehockeyfics



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2021-2022 NHL Season, Anal Sex, Anxiety, Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hiking, Journal writing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Off-Season, Panic Attacks, Sight seeing, Summer Vacation, Sweden - Freeform, Travel, Washington Capitals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29755383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehockeyfics/pseuds/somehockeyfics
Summary: In which Tom finds something worthwhile and unexpected while in Sweden during the off-season.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Nic/Garnet, Nicklas Backstrom/Tom Wilson, sid/ovi
Kudos: 18





	It's Taken All Of Me

**Author's Note:**

> This is currently a work in progress, I have no timeline for updates, but I will try to get them out as quickly as I can.
> 
> I've also chosen not to address the whole covid situation in this either. 
> 
> Please enjoy :)
> 
> Disclaimer: This is all fictional and if you found this by searching your name then you know damn well where the back button is. Use it.

Tension sinks deep into Tom's bones, as each second ticks by like it's taunting him, waiting to strike. His muscles ache, but he pushes that all aside to focus on the task at hand. They're in double overtime against the Oilers; Tom's hoping the Capitals will advance to round three. There are two games under their belt, Tom knows they need this win to tie the series and take it to game seven. It seems promising, the team has been solid despite the changes over the past year. 

Tom is on a line with Alex and Nicklas, he knows their odds are somewhat in their favour, especially if the puck gets right to _'Ovi's office'_. It doesn't stop the way his skin itches though, his hands squeezed all too tightly around his stick, just to make it obvious to everyone. Nicklas skates by him as he gets ready for a faceoff; Tom gets a tap on the back of his leg as a sign of good luck. They're going to need it. 

"Focus, Tom. Focus," he says, under his breath. 

The puck drops, Tom has a minor scuffle with Archibald, then takes off after the puck which is in Alex's possession. Nicklas isn't too far behind; Tom takes the puck from Alex when it gets sent his way. There's a chance for him, yet an even bigger one for Nicklas, so without hesitation, Tom passes it. Nicklas takes a shot, but it ends up a hair's breadth from where it should be and glances off the post. The puck glides past Tom before Draisaitl suddenly slides in, his big body bumping Tom along the way. 

He manages to keep his balance and hurries after Draisaitl, despite the ache in the backs of his thighs that continue to ebb away. The crowd cheers so loud that Tom almost allows himself a moment to be distracted by it. But he can see the Oilers players encroaching on Vitek, who drops to a defensive stance immediately, _waiting._

Tom's heart starts racing as he swoops in, ready to sacrifice his body if need be. He's not a d-man, however, he'll defend Vitek like his life depends on it. Tom watches the puck bounce off Vitek's mask, leaving it loose as players surround him quickly. He gets in on the scramble; tries to stray the puck away and battle for it. 

Suddenly, there are multiple loud cheers, only it's not from the crowd but from the Oilers bench. The light behind the net is green; Tom doesn't quite understand what happened. He glances up to the jumbotron where the replay will happen, close-ups and everything. All around him, his teammates look confused, yet Tom feels sick to his stomach. _This can't be it, it can't be over_ he thinks. 

When the replay shows, Tom's heart sinks as he witnesses the puck get tipped in by _his_ stick. It's a Capitals own goal and it's entirely on him. His grip tightens around his stick yet he doesn't dare swing it at the net, even if he desperately wants to. Disappointment surfs through the crowd, which simply makes Tom feel ten times worse like he's let them down as well as the team. Everything's a blur for Tom before he leans back against the crossbar of the net then stares down the other end of the ice. It's over.

"Whip…" 

Alex skates over to him and Tom just knows he will try to console him. So Tom shakes his head at his captain; Alex seems to get the message by stopping in his tracks. 

"Have to do handshake line." 

There are often times that Tom forgets these things, yet who can blame him, he dislikes this part the most. It hurts more knowing that the only reason this happened was from his doing. Thoughts race through his mind of what could have been and it makes his breathing labour for a brief moment. His chest aches, perhaps of sadness or a little bit of anger, however something else lingers that Tom can't put a finger on. He shakes it off though, in favour of getting through the line as quickly as possible. 

Most of them do the typical _'good game'_ or _'congratulations'_ ; Alex gets stopped several times of course. But there are a few Oilers who shoot Tom looks of sympathy, it _hurts,_ like humiliation but with more bite. Then there are the fans, Tom doesn't really want to chance a glance at them. They all cheer for the Capitals anyway and it's still a magical moment, despite the weight of defeat on their shoulders. T.J. skates by before he taps Tom lightly on his back with his stick, it's meant to be comforting. Tom gets it, sort of, but he just knows the team will start to handle him like he's made of glass now. 

Tom skates to the tunnel as quickly as he can, because he knows if he stays here any longer it'll break him. The entire walk to the locker room feels like a walk of shame, at least for Tom it is. He mulls over the replay time and time again in his head, wonders how it went so _fucking_ wrong. His grip around his hockey stick tightens; Tom's confusion slips into anger now. He's not angry at anyone else but himself and he just wants to snap the stick over his knee right now. Frustration isn't a good thing for him to drown in, but sometimes it crawls over Tom, then sinks its claws in with no way to go back. 

When they get into the locker room, Tom strips down to his base layer, his jersey, pants and skates seem to weigh too heavy on him. Laviolette gives them a brief pep talk, praises them for all the hard work they've done. There's no bitterness, even though Tom fully expects their coach to call out Tom's recklessness. He doesn't though, instead he goes around to everyone and thanks them personally. Tom shrinks in on himself when it's his turn, but Laviolette looks him in the eye, then says _"it's not your fault"_ with absolute sincerity. 

"Floor's all yours, Alex." 

Alex walks into his line of sight, however, Tom's gaze falls to stare down at his socked feet. The tight sensation in his chest comes back, slow, but incredibly invasive. It's like several walls begin to close around him and Alex's voices drones in and out of audible and inaudible. Despite being down to his base layer, Tom's skin still feels hot, or maybe... _clammy?_ He reaches for the stick tape in his bag to use as a distraction, it helps, for a short time. 

"So, we play good hockey, maybe not like we want. But always believe we come back, start over and try again. Is no one's fault. Want you to know I'm proud of all of you." 

All of a sudden, Tom snorts loud and irritably, which draws the entire room's attention to him. 

"That's bullshit, O," he says. 

"Tom, don't…" John interjects.

"No! Why are you all acting like it was no one's fault we lost! It was mine! I put that puck in our own damn net!" Tom snaps.

"Enough, Whip," Alex warns. 

Tom scans his eyes around the room.

"I just-" 

He stands abruptly and throws his stick tape down heavily.

"Fuck this." 

Alex steps in front of him.

"Not finished talking," he mutters.

"I don't fucking care. I need some air, now get the _fuck_ out of my way," Tom hisses. 

He shoves past Alex, knocking him off balance a little, but Alex neither says nor does anything in retaliation. Tom storms out of the locker room and lets the door slam shut behind him, it doesn't make him feel better though. His lungs start to burn from breathing so heavily, the frustration quickly transitions into a panic, for reasons that Tom can't place. 

"What the hell…" he whispers, as he tries to stop his hands trembling.

Tom turns down an empty hallway with a dead end and presses his back against the wall. Everything feels different, in a way that scares him, like nothing he's experienced before. It's a panic attack, has to be, he's heard a lot about them from Michael. _Christ_ , _Latts_ he says to himself. He'd give anything to have him there, or Holtby, maybe even Burky. But they're gone now, to different teams, Holtby being the latest, and it's sent Tom into a spiral without his knowledge. 

"Tom." 

Tom's head drops down at the sound of Nicklas' voice. 

" _Shit…_ " 

Nicklas joins him at the end of the hallway and stands in front of Tom. 

"Talk to me." 

Tom shakes his head.

"I can't." 

"Because I'm not Braden?" Nicklas replies.

"No! I mean-" he pauses abruptly. 

Nicklas' brow furrows with concern.

"I don't know. Nicky, I don't _know,_ " Tom says shakily.

He starts to gasp between breaths, this other burst of panic makes Tom feel like he's not going to escape it. Tom's shaking, sweating and can barely get a grasp on what's happening around him. It's like danger is coming for him, even though there is none around him. Maybe it's the loss of the game, or thinking his teammates hate him that's triggered it. He's felt stressed for a while, although this seems like the thing that finally cut the thin thread he held onto. 

"I-" 

Tom feels a gentle touch to his arm. _Nicky._

"Hey...deep breaths, Whip. You're okay," he soothes.

It all begins to subside slow and steady, then Tom manages to get a breath in, all while having Nicklas there with him. Nicklas doesn't let go of him either, he leaves his hand on Tom's arm for support. It's somewhat over as quick as it had started; Tom feels terrible because of it. 

"Can you tell me what's going on?" 

Tom nods and leans back against the wall.

"I think I just panicked when things got tense with Ovi." 

Nicklas appears unconvinced. 

"It's more than that. I saw you after the puck went in, you looked like you were far away." 

"We lost because of me," he answers.

"No. You can't blame yourself for that. These things happen to a lot of players. It was unfortunate," Nicklas assures him.

Tom draws his bottom lip in between his teeth and bites down on it a little. 

"I miss Holts…" Tom confesses.

Nicklas stares at him with a sombre expression. 

"Me too," he murmurs. 

Tom sighs sadly. 

"Burky and Latts too. Makes me wonder who will go next." 

Nicklas' hand slides up to rest on the nape of his neck; Tom's immediate response is to press into the touch. 

"Don't. Try not to think about that right now. C'mere." 

Tom's a few inches taller than Nicklas, but he goes so easily, as he gets wrapped in a comforting embrace. He tightens his arms around Nicklas', because he's warm and it's exactly what Tom needs right now. 

"Is O upset with me?" 

The rumble Tom feels against his chest from Nicklas laughing is palpable.

"He's moping a little. I'm sure an apology and a hug will fix it, you know how he is." 

"Maybe I overreacted," Tom says.

"You're going through a lot of emotions, the whole team is. But it's going to be okay. We'll go home, lick our wounds and then come back stronger," Nicklas encourages. 

Tom swallows the lump in his throat.

"Yeah, yeah…" he mutters, his voice thick. 

Tears form in the corners of his eyes and he hides his face into the side of Nicklas' neck. Nicklas doesn't flinch, he simply holds him closer while he strokes his fingers through Tom's hair. Tom cries quietly into the collar of Nicklas’ shirt, as he knows it would echo in the hallway. He wants to have this moment, just the two of them. Despite the fact that they've gone through this multiple times before, it still hurts to lose, it always will. 

“I’m always proud of you, Whip,” he replies.

Tom huffs out a heavy breath.

“Stop, you’ll give me a bigger ego.”

Nicklas snorts loudly.

“What, you don’t have one already?”

He pulls away from Nicklas and smiles widely, while Nicklas grins back at him.

“I got you to smile.”

Tom chuckles before he wipes his hand over his red-rimmed eyes.

“Was that your plan this whole time?”

“Well...in a way, yes. I was worried about you though, I’ve never seen you like that, so I knew something was wrong. We do get frustrated, but it’s not like you to snap at Alex,” Nicklas explains. 

"I know, I just panicked and I've never gone through something like that before. I got scared and it made it worse until you came and found me," Tom answers. 

Nicklas nods slowly.

"Maybe you need to talk to someone who isn't _us._ I know it's easy to rely on us, but we're not professionals. You should speak to someone who knows about these things," he suggests.

There's a brief pause as Tom relaxes against the wall and thinks it over. 

"You think so?" he murmurs.

"I really do." 

Tom's gaze meets Nicklas', the sincerity incredibly visible in his eyes. Nicklas is as wise as he is skilled at hockey and Tom's grateful to have him in his life. He's thankful for all of his teammates, really, but there's something with the Swede that stands out. His gaze falls from the pools of blue that stare back at him before he glances back down the hallway.

"I'll find out who I can talk to. For now, I think I should go and apologise to Ovi." 

Nicklas smiles warmly.

"Let's go." 

Nicklas goes to turn until Tom grasps his arm gently to draw him back.

"Nicky." 

"Hm?" he hums in response.

Tom squeezes Nicklas' arm.

"Thanks," he says with a genuine smile. 

"No problem, Willy," Nicklas replies.

Sure enough, when Tom walks back into the locker room with Nicklas close behind, Alex is moping. It's most likely because of the loss too, but Tom thinks he has a fairly good read on Alex. He's doing that thing where he bounces his leg up and down when he's hyped for a game. However, Tom has seen him do it when he's upset about something, that _something_ being Tom right now. 

He feels Nicklas give him a light nudge in Alex's direction; Tom goes to him. Alex tilts his head up when he hears him approach and almost immediately the bouncing of his leg subsides. Tom drops to his haunches with a soft sigh, then looks up at Alex, who stares right back at him.

"I'm sorry for how I acted. That wasn't fair on you, or the team. You were just trying to keep our spirits up, as you always do. I didn't mean to upset you," Tom explains.

A tired smile manifests itself on Alex's face as he drops his hand down on Tom's and pats it comfortingly. 

"It’s fine, Willy. You okay? Make me worry." 

"Just going through some shit, mentally. I think that the last goal was the tipping point. Backy suggested that I should find out where I can get some help." 

Alex squeezes his hand tight.

"Team here for you too." 

Tom blinks away some stray tears before he puts his other hand over the top of Alex's.

"I know, and I love you guys for that. But I need to see someone who can help me figure out how to manage this better, y'know?" 

"I understand," Alex replies. "Want you to know that goal is not your fault. Have done many times, not good feeling. But I think of how hard we fight to get here. You are best, Whip, no matter what happens," he adds. 

Tom doesn't get a chance to reply as he's dragged into one of Alex's tight hugs, the ones that always seem to make him feel content. When they part from the hug Alex is a little teary-eyed, but Tom knows not to ask about it, he already knows why. 

"Alright everybody, you've got media in ten," Laviolette calls out, which interrupts their quiet moment. 

A collective echo of disgruntled groans rises in the room at the mention of the media. A win would make the media questions bearable, which is what they _don't_ have. 

"Okay, but after this, we're going to a fucking bar!" T.J. announces loudly to the room.

Tom likes the sound of that. 

"Hell yeah Teej!" he exclaims, then high-fives T.J. when he walks past.

Alex reaches out to ruffle his hair.

"Sure you want to go?"

"Yeah. We're gonna' have some fun instead of feeling sorry for ourselves. I don't think I could handle going home right now, I need to get out. There's no one else I'd rather do that with than you guys," Tom says.

"Being cute, Willy." 

A laugh escapes Tom. 

"Oh fuck off." 

Alex's grin widens as he stands and makes haste for the showers. 

"Let's fuckin' go babes!" he yells. 

Tom forgoes a shower in favour of having one at home before they go out. He packs his bag instead and tries to make himself somewhat presentable for the media, even if he'd prefer not to. Some of the others wander by to check on him; Tom feels so thankful to have a team that cares a lot. It's what they've always been like, no matter who stays or goes. 

When his bag is packed, Tom uses the last few minutes they have to send a text to Braden. He keeps it short but he asks if he can call him later, to which Braden replies promptly. Tom thinks Braden could be the one to guide him, as he knows Braden often spoke to a therapist when he was a Capital. And he's about to reply to his old teammate until someone kicks his foot, Nicklas' foot to be exact. 

"You're in a postgame interview with me, come on." 

He raises a curious eyebrow at Nicklas. 

"I thought you'd be in one with O?" 

Nicklas shakes his head. 

"They wanted you for a solo one but I argued against it. I know they will put you on the spot if you're alone." 

"Aw, Nicky you really care about me," Tom teases jokingly. 

The expression on Nicklas' face is fairly unreadable; something idles there in his eyes that Tom hasn't witnessed before.

"You know I would do anything for you," Nicklas states with abandon.

_Tom's not entirely sure what to make of that statement—he only knows that it's different somehow._

* * *

There's a painful throb in Tom's temples when he wakes the next morning. Not only that, but his body feels too warm and it's a little unpleasant. He attempts to open his eyes, it's only a minor struggle, which he hurdles over in the end. Thankfully, there's only a thin veil of light through the curtains, just enough for Tom to see his surroundings. The only thing he realises now is that he doesn't own curtains at his apartment, therefore, he's not _at_ home. 

Tom wonders if he picked up at the bar last night because this bedroom is fairly unrecognisable to him. He turns his head to the right then inhales sharply at the sight of the body laid out beside him. His back faces him, but Tom can tell that those lush blonde curls are Nicklas' any day. That doesn't help his dilemma, yet explains why he didn't recognise the room, even if it doesn't really fit Nicklas' style.

"Stop staring." 

"I wasn't," Tom protests, with a hoarse voice. 

Nicklas lets out a groggy laugh.

"You're predictable even with my back turned, Whip." 

Tom scowls but smiles weakly afterward.

"Fuck off," he mutters.

"Both have to shut the fuck up. Trying to sleep." 

Tom's eyes widen as he peers to his left to see Alex, who doesn't look amused at all.

"Um, where the hell are we?" 

Alex sighs as he throws his arm loosely across Tom's waist, it's something he's used to now, Alex's close and affectionate nature that is. 

"My house. We crash in my bed, big enough for many tired bodies." 

A beat of silence passes.

"Oh, okay..." 

It's all Tom can muster in response, mostly due to his drowsiness and general confusion. Relief washes over him upon knowing that all they did was come back here to sleep off the woes of a playoff loss. Tom doesn't mean that in a bad way, despite the fact that it may sound that way. If he's being honest; he wouldn't _oppose_ the idea with some of his teammates. Nor would he oppose it with a few others in the league for that matter. He's not going to tell them that though, unless the opportunity arose, which it _won't._

"Think too loud, Willy," Alex says.

"I do not," he grouses. 

Alex grunts in exasperation.

"Sleep," he murmurs while he pats Tom's stomach lightly.

And _christ,_ Tom's only just noticed that he's shirtless, as are Alex and Nicklas. However, he thinks there's definitely a reasonable explanation, even if it hurts his head to think too hard at the moment. 

"You got beer all over your shirt," Nicklas speaks up. 

Nicklas turns to face Tom, he's a little close, but Tom pretends to not notice. As a team they're generally this close, not one of them knows what personal space is, some more than others. 

"Shit, how bad did it get last night? My head is killing me," Tom complains. 

A tired smile plays on Nicklas' lips.

"You were dancing on a table with Ovi at one point. We got pretty drunk…" he drawls sleepily. 

Tom lets out a sigh and rubs at his temples.

"We're terrible influences on each other." 

He stretches his legs out, only to be met by something solid, which elicits a grunt of discomfort in return. 

" _Ow,_ that was my back." 

Tom looks down to the foot of the bed where T.J. lays vertically across the bed.

"Hey Teej." 

T.J. groans.

"Please stop talking." 

"All I said was _hey,_ " Tom snorted. 

"But you're so loud!" T.J. bites back, to Tom's amusement. 

Tom shakes his head a little. 

"How many of you are here anyway?" he asks.

There is in fact a fair few of them in Alex's bedroom. Nic and Garnet are sprawled on a chair together, Evgeny is behind Alex and Brenden's on the floor with Jakub and Vitek under his arms. Tom knows a few of the others left the club early, they most likely dodged a hangover, unlike the rest of them. It's not that Tom had been trying to forget the game entirely, well, he might have. However, it's clear that it didn't work, because his head is now filled with an endless replay of it. Nicklas must notice he's upset, going by the frown that creases over his brow.

"Stop." 

Nicklas places his hand on Tom's shoulder while his thumb rubs small circles over his bare skin. 

"Did you find somebody to talk to?" 

Tom closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath and allows himself to indulge Nicklas' soothing touch for a moment. 

"I spoke to Holts." 

"Yeah? Is he doing okay?" Nicklas questions. 

"He's...adjusting still. I don't think he's found his footing in Vancouver as quickly as he wants to." 

Nicklas shares a sad look with him. 

"That's a little upsetting," he replies.

"Yeah," Tom mumbles. "He gave me the names of a few people I could talk to. I gave one a call and he scheduled a video call with me because he's out of town right now," he adds. 

A small smile appears on Nicklas' face. 

"Tom...that's _great_." 

For whatever reason it may be, Tom doesn't mind when Nicklas calls him by his actual name. He's gotten so used to being called _'Whip'_ or _'Willy'_ , that to hear _'Tom'_ sounds so foreign to him. Nicklas seems to use it more often than anyone else on the team, it feels... _special_ in some way. 

"Actually, I think the video call is soon and I probably look like a mess." 

Nicklas laughs. 

"You look fine." 

Tom grins roguishly. 

"Fuck, can you two like...get out, some of us are trying to sleep," T.J. interrupts. 

Tom holds back a laugh and gently nudges T.J's shoulder with his foot.

"Asshole." 

"You want to go downstairs and get coffee before your call?" Nicklas says. 

"Sure, let's go," Tom answers, with a loud yawn. 

For the next several minutes, Tom and Nicklas maneuver their way off the bed quietly, then weave past their sleeping teammates on the floor. Tom almost trips over John and Lars, who he didn't notice before, but Nicklas stops him when he throws his arm out in front of him. They manage to make it out safely into the hallway, all while they try not to laugh at the stupidity of it all. To Tom it feels like a bit of a boost to his morning; a burst of serotonin to be exact. 

Nicklas steers him into a guest bedroom before he closes the door and meanders over to the walk-in closet. He decides to scope the room out while Nicklas is distracted by his search party. It's nicely furnished, enough for someone to spend a few nights, which does leave Tom with questions. There are some things around the room that are obviously Nicklas', it's almost as if he _lives_ there. He must give off a signal because Nicklas pauses and glances over his shoulder at Tom. 

"Whatever it is you want to say, you can say it," he huffs out.

Tom shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

"I just noticed you have a few of your things here. Don't worry about it, I'm assuming when I shouldn't, it's my biggest flaw," he utters.

Nicklas shakes his head with a smile as he wanders back over to stand in front of Tom. 

"You wouldn't be the first to assume, relax. Sometimes I stay here when we have back-to-back games, it's easier. And if we're going on a road trip, I'll be here too. Ovi and I have done it for years. Which is _why_ some of my stuff is here." 

Tom swallows thickly, his head hung in shame. 

"I'm sorry."

Nicklas tilts Tom's head back up so that he looks at him. 

"Don't be. He would say the same to you, but he would probably laugh at your assumption first." 

A wave of relief washes over Tom.

"Besides, Alex has had his eye on someone for a while," Nicklas points out.

Tom raises an eyebrow.

"Who?" 

He watches the wheels turn in Nicklas’ head slowly, he's looking for an escape and Tom can see right through him. 

"I-" he pauses, then mumbles under his breath 

"Nicky…c'mon, it's _me._ I won't say a word," Tom promises. 

Nicklas shoves a shirt and a pair of shorts into Tom's hands.

"He's not on _our_ team, that's all I'm saying." 

"Okay, Mr. Vague. Wait...is it-oh, my god. It's not who I think it is, is it?" he queries. 

The silence he earns in return is enough of an answer; it prompts a laugh out of him that echoes in the room. Nicklas fixes him with a glare that others these days appear to call his 'murder stare'. 

"I mean it, not a word." 

Tom gives him a quick salute.

"Scouts honour." 

Nicklas nearly breaks at that, even though he smiles nonetheless.

"Get dressed. Hopefully my clothes will fit." 

His fingers smooth over the soft fabric of Nicklas' shirt in his hands. 

"We're sharing clothes already? At least buy me dinner first, Backy." 

He means for it to come off as humorous, he thinks it does, if Nicklas' amused expression is anything to go by. Yet he is also hard to get a read on at times, it should bug Tom but it doesn't, nothing about Nicklas does. It’s just their typical banter, the team engages in it at all times when the opportunity opens up. Something feels like it has shifted though, and it settles over Tom like a warm blanket, unwilling to budge. 

“Do you want coffee or not?” Nicklas responds, finally. 

Tom drags himself away from his own personal thoughts to see Nicklas already dressed and his hands on his hips. 

“Right, yeah...I want coffee,” Tom mutters.

He busies himself with getting dressed while Nicklas places clothes back into the closet, simply to break the awkward silence between them. Nicklas' clothes fit a little snug on him, Tom can tell by the appreciative glance he earns. It only feeds Tom's confidence further, he sort of likes the attention, not in a cocky way though. 

"Take a picture, it'll last longer," he chides. 

Nicklas rolls his eyes and gently shoves Tom out of the way of the bedroom door. Tom follows him downstairs to the kitchen, before he makes a beeline for Alex's coffee machine like it's a prize. He searches for the mugs, but Nicklas beats him to it with two already held in his hands. 

"Thanks." 

His eyes track Nicklas to where he leans against the counter; Nicklas finds Tom's eyes momentarily.

"Need help with anything?" 

Tom smiles sheepishly.

"Actually, could you get the coffee? I need to set up for the meeting and Ovi said I could use his laptop." 

Nicklas nods, takes the ground coffee out of his hands, then bumps him out of the way with his hip.

"I'll handle it." 

Tom situates himself at the dining table, he'll get the best light there and he won't have mishaps of anyone walking behind him. He settles onto a chair then opens Alex's laptop then waits for the screen to wake up. It's unlocked, which Tom expected, especially from Alex who seems to not care for passcodes and such. 

"Man, O just leaves everything open, eh?" he chuckles.

He gets a tired hum in return from Nicklas as he opens the browser; his eyes widen at what's on the screen. There are plane tickets, only they're not for Russia, they're for Pittsburgh. Tom's suspicions creep up on him again, until he realises that he's most likely reading something he shouldn't be. So, he minimises the browser before he gets caught by Nicklas and opens an entirely new window. 

"I hope you're not poking your nose in where it shouldn't be," Nicklas calls. 

"No…" Tom replies as he feigns innocence. 

Nicklas appears beside him, coffee mugs in hand before he places one down for Tom. 

"You're a terrible liar," he accuses. 

"Well, he shouldn't have tabs open for all to see. I don't think he cares anyway, it’s obviously not Malkin he’s going to see." 

Nicklas smirks behind the mug that he takes a sip from. 

"Probably not, he thinks he's being subtle at times." 

Tom laughs.

"Alex Ovechkin? Subtle? We know that's bullshit." 

Before Nicklas can reply, Tom's phone chimes on the table to signal his meeting. He looks across the table at Nicklas, who gives him a reassuring nod, which in turn settles his nervousness. 

"Do you want me to leave?" 

It's just a simple question and Tom thinks it'd be good for him to have someone there, for moral support really.

"Could you stay?" he asks. 

"Sure," Nicklas says, without hesitation as Tom accepts the call that comes through. 

It turns out that the psychologist, Rowan, is incredibly friendly and easy to talk to. His Irish accent is broad, yet he talks so eloquently that Tom understands him well enough. He's also not as much of a stuffed shirt as Tom thought he might be, Tom likes him already. Nicklas pretends to be engrossed in his phone, but Tom catches him smiling out of the corner of his eye. Tom is thankful he asked Nicklas to stay, even if Rowan makes him feel welcome and comfortable.

Rowan gives Tom a rundown on what he does as a psychologist, plus what he will offer to him. It all sounds promising to Tom from the weekly check-ins to the exercises that should help Tom manage his stress better. He suggests that Tom buy himself a journal to write down his thoughts, which he can then share with him at every check-in. Rowan also assures him that Tom doesn't have to tell him _everything,_ that it's beneficial for Tom to tell him when _he's_ ready. To Tom, that's like music to his ears. 

_"Now, Tom...I have an idea to run by you. I believe you're going into the off-season for hockey, correct?"_

"Yeah, we didn't manage to get to the next part of the Stanley Cup playoffs," Tom replies glumly. 

_"I'm very sorry to hear that. You've had a good season regardless. Don't look so surprised, I've been watching the Capitals for a while."_

Tom grimaces.

"Right, of course. What were you going to suggest?" 

_"That you travel somewhere during the off-season, outside of the USA, or North America for that matter. I think venturing somewhere you've never been before would be great for your mental health. It would help you relax and recuperate, while also giving you a sense of adventure. I've tried this method before and it's gained excellent results."_

"I-uh...wow. That's not what I was expecting." 

Rowan chuckles.

_"It may sound strange, but I believe in it. I propose many different methods, and I believe this one should work for you."_

Tom breathes out slowly then briefly looks at Nicklas, staring at his coffee mug like it just said something offensive. It's not the worst idea Tom's ever heard, but it's left him with too many questions. _Where would he go? Would he have to go alone? Would it help him?_ He can feel himself dive into the beginning of being overwhelmed, so he backtracks and puts his attention on Rowan again.

"I'm not against this. I might need to think about it," he says.

_"Of course, there's no rush, Tom. If you have friends nearby, like your teammates, perhaps you could ask for their opinion. But remember that the choice is entirely up to you in the end. Don't feel forced to do something because you think you have to make others happy. Being somewhat selfish now and again can be good, in the right context."_

It's calming for him to know that he can be a little selfish for the sake of his mental wellbeing, as he has always thought of it as a negative thing. 

"That's reassuring, I thought it was a bad thing," Tom sighs.

_"Most people do. Selfishness is only bad when it negatively affects you and those around you. Also, if you think it would help, then perhaps consider travelling with someone. Company helps, especially with someone you wouldn't usually think of."_

Nicklas' gaze shifts to meet Tom's but his expression doesn't give much away, as it generally does. Tom wishes he could find out what he's thinking, but he's afraid to ask for reasons he's not sure of. In the end, he draws his eyes away from Nicklas and back to Rowan so as not to get lost in his own thoughts. 

"Sounds like I have a lot to think about." 

_"Of course, I'll be in touch and I will forward you everything I have from my studies in psychology. You can read them at your own pace and if it gets overwhelming then don't hesitate to have a break."_

A small smile shows on Tom's face.

"Thanks, Rowan." 

_"My pleasure. Enjoy the rest of your day, Tom."_

When the call ends, Tom breathes out a sigh and leans back in his chair. 

“That was a lot,” he groans.

Nicklas looks up from his phone.

“You okay?” he asks.

“It felt good to talk to someone who can offer the right help,” Tom replies.

“I hope it helps you.”

He gives Nicklas a thoughtful nod in return.

“Yeah, me too…”

Tom thinks that he might buy that journal later today, he has so many thoughts inside his head already that he wants to scrawl on paper. There’s much to unpack from his session with Rowan, namely everything that will be sent for him to read or practice. Tom knows that he needs to create a safe space for himself where he can wind down. But he’ll wait until everyone else is awake so that he can say his goodbyes.

“Hey...you wanna’ make a collage of Crosby pictures and put it as Ovi’s wallpaper before he wakes up?”

Nicklas grins mischievously. 

* * *

"Come to Sweden with me." 

Tom almost inhales the food he's eating as he stares back at Nicklas in surprise—Nicklas looks serious.

" _What?_ " he chokes out.

It’s been a week since their exit from the Stanley Cup playoffs, most of the team have left for their vacations, but Tom and Nicklas remained. Tom spent the week writing in his journal, all of it page upon page of anything and everything. The journal in question is on the table beside Tom while he eats a burger, which he almost choked on. 

“I said come to Sweden with me.”

Tom blinks and puts the burger down before he grabs a napkin to wipe his mouth.

“Uh, where the hell is this coming from?” Tom says questioningly. 

Nicklas sighs then leans forward with his chin propped on his hands. 

“What Rowan said got me thinking,” he replies. 

“So Sweden was your first thought?” 

He earns one of Nicklas’ famous glares in return.

“He said _outside_ of North America,” Nicklas points out.

“I know. Do you really want to spend the off-season with me though?” 

Nicklas lightly kicks his foot under the table. 

“I want you to come to Sweden.”

For a moment, Tom thinks about how crazy this all should sound but in actual fact, it doesn’t. Tom’s never been to Sweden—Nicklas would be an ideal travel companion for the trip. There are also endless possibilities for him to record in his journal, he could easily check in with Rowan when you needed to as well. It’s a spontaneous idea and one that Tom is absolutely willing to grab the horns of. 

“You don’t have-”

“Let’s do it,” Tom interjects.

It’s Nicklas’ turn to look at him in surprise now.

“You’re sure?” he asks.

“Backy, if I’m with you I’ll be fine.”

Tom likes the way Nicklas fails so miserably at not smiling because Nicklas looks elated about his response. He can’t help but smile back as they fall into yet another blissful silence, however, their gazes still stay locked on one another. Occasionally, Tom wonders if this is what Nicklas and Alex feel when they’re together—like a connection of sorts—or simply a deeper understanding of the other.

“So…”

“What is it?” Nicklas questions.

Tom clears his throat.

“We’re going to Sweden, huh?” he adds so casually.

Nicklas smiles even greater than he had before. 

“Yeah.”

He gently bumps his foot against Tom’s leg again. 

  
_“_ To Sweden...”


End file.
